


O Christmas Plant, O Christmas Plant...

by gingerpolyglot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anderson is Baffled, Anderson isn't the worst, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, John loves him anyway, Office Party, Secret Santa, Sherlock Is A Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:22:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerpolyglot/pseuds/gingerpolyglot
Summary: ...how you always baffle me.Or:Every year John ropes Sherlock into participating in the Yard's Secret Santa. Every year, Sherlock somehow manages to pull Anderson's name. And for some reason, every year, Sherlock gifts the man a potted plant.Inspired by thistumblr post





	O Christmas Plant, O Christmas Plant...

It began the first year John lived with Sherlock. Christmastime had come to London and even the most dour techs at the Yard had gotten into the holiday spirit. Mrs Hudson had tried to liven up Baker Street with a wreath on the front door, but any decorations that had found their way into the flat were promptly lit on fire ("It's an _experiment_ , John!") or used to reenact crime scenes ("It's for a _case_ , John!").

John really shouldn't have been surprised by Sherlock's lack of Christmas spirit. Frankly, after the revelations about Sherlock's knowledge of the solar system he wasn't certain Sherlock hadn't just deleted the holiday to make room for 27 different kinds of tobacco ash. Still, when Lestrade asked John if he and Sherlock wanted to be included in the Yard's annual Secret Santa, John said yes and resigned himself to three weeks of Sherlock's rants about the pointless sentimentality of it all.

When the name drawing took place and it was Anderson's name Sherlock picked, John prepared himself for rants of even more epic proportions. Sherlock whined and begged, but John remained firm. He was part of the team at NSY whether he liked it or not, and this was part of what you did with colleagues. Sherlock scoffed at that, insisting that John was the only colleague he had that was even close to his level, which made John warm with affection but did not sway him.

Finally, Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa with a grumble and turned to John to ask plaintively, "So what does one get someone for Christmas? What on earth could I get Anderson?" John had to acknowledge it was a valid question, and cast about for a decent answer.

"I don't know, something nice. There's a price limit, so it doesn't have to be more than 20 quid, but something small and...nice. Maybe something useful." Sherlock was quiet for a moment, and John could almost see the gears turning in his unfathomable brain.

John decided to drop the subject, only asking again the week before the exchange to ensure Sherlock hadn't forgotten, or deleted the thing entirely. He was even prepared to get something for Anderson in addition to his own Secret Santa, but when he brought it up, Sherlock waved him off, saying he'd taken care of it. John raised his eyebrows at that, but decided to see how things played out.

The day of the exchange dawned cold and grey, and Sherlock and John arrived to the Yard each bearing a box. John had thought to check that Sherlock hadn't gifted Anderson one of the body parts from the morgue, but Sherlock denied it.

"You said useful, John. What would Anderson do with body parts? He probably couldn't even name them!" John rolled his eyes at the comment but privately conceded that if nothing else, Sherlock's low estimation of the man's intelligence and abilities apparently had one upside.

The gifts were laid out and labelled, and everyone descended on them en masse. John received a coupon to a nice spa downtown (from Sally, he surmised, given the note that said "You deserve it for putting up with him"). Sherlock scowled at receiving yet another deerstalker hat, but John caught him eyeing the rather lovely purple scarf that accompanied it with something close to appreciation. Across the room, John watched Anderson open a box to reveal...a potted plant. Anderson seemed baffled, glancing around the room trying to determine the recipient. John looked over at Sherlock, eyebrow raised.

"A potted plant?" he mouthed. Sherlock shrugged. "You said something useful." John couldn't argue with that, and the plant appeared to be a perfectly benign fern, so he shrugged and chalked it up as a win. And so it became tradition - every year Sherlock somehow managed to pull Anderson's name from the Secret Santa bowl, and every year Anderson received some form of potted plant. The man was clearly baffled, but he did his level best to keep them alive, and usually managed until about March or April, when he went on holiday and forgot to request someone water it in his absence.

* * *

The first Christmas after Sherlock's fall, Lestrade called John and invited him to participate in the Yard's Secret Santa, reasoning "We're still your friends, John, let us give you a bit of Christmas spirit." John reluctantly agreed. Anderson seemed confused, and potentially even put out that his gift that year was a set of earmuffs rather than his by-then customary plant, but brushed it off.

The second year, Secret Santa was held in the local pub, owing to Anderson's probation. He once again looked disappointed at the lack of greenery with his name on it, but resigned himself to enjoying the fancy Christmas cookies he received instead.

The third year, Sherlock was back, and with it the return of the potted plant. Anderson grinned when he opened his box to discover the plant, then frowned as he examined it.

"This one's fake!" he exclaimed. "Yes, well done, Anderson, you apparently have the intellectual ability of a toddler, able to ascertain the difference between plastic and a living plant," Sherlock sneered, though without quite as much contempt in his voice as usual despite the insult. Anderson glared back, then paused. He gaped at Sherlock for a moment.

"You-you're my Secret Santa?" he asked in astonishment. Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently. "Yes, isn't it obvious?" he replied imperiously. Anderson scowled.

"But why plastic this year? It always used to be real," he persisted. Sherlock shrugged. "It didn't need to be real this year, but I thought it might be, ah, nice, to continue the tradition," he said. Only John was close enough to see the tiniest bit of a blush that graced Sherlock's cheeks at the admission of sentiment. Anderson seemed taken aback by the thought of he and Sherlock having any sort of tradition together, but then his brow furrowed as he processed the rest of the sentence.

"Wait, what do you mean it didn't need to be real?" he asked. Sherlock made an impatient noise. "Well you're finally not wasting oxygen, are you?" he responded. Anderson spluttered.

"You- I- that's why you gave me a plant?" he shouted. "Yes," Sherlock replied, nonplussed. "John said a gift should be something small and useful. Ergo, I gave you a potted plant to replace the oxygen you wasted by being an idiot." Anderson stared. John put his face in his hands, desperately trying to conceal his laughter. Anderson stared more.

Sherlock fidgeted, leaning over to whisper to John, "What? Not good?" Anderson's blank expression broke, and he started laughing, which everyone else took as permission to give in to their own hilarity. John smiled at Sherlock, clapping him on the shoulder.

"No, Sherlock, you did good."

* * *

The fourth year Anderson receives a live plant again, but it takes secondary pride of place in his office - the plastic fern couldn't die while he was on holiday, after all.


End file.
